As the Darkness Clears
by ThisRisingMusic
Summary: Harry returns the summer after his fifth year to discover the Dursley's are no longer afraid of him. What happens when their abuse goes too far, and Harry ends up permanently blind?
1. Chapter 1

Title: As the Darkness Clears

Pairing: Harry/Voldemort

Summary: Harry returns the summer after his fifth year to discover the Dursley's are no longer afraid of him. What happens when their abuse goes too far, and Harry ends up permanently blind? Of course, it is only when Harry can no longer see the world that he begins to 'see' it as it truly is.

Warning: Rape (in first chapter only) and slash

**A/N: **Hello, HPLV fans. I understand there was a lot of confusion about who was writing this story, and it keeps getting abandoned, etc. So I promise you – I will not abandon this story! Also, this story was really popular when Ash was writing it, apparently, so I hope I can do half as well. Wish me luck, and I hope you enjoy! Also, to those who have never read this before, I warn you, Voldemort is pretty OOC.

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_Number 4 Privet Drive_

_July 20th, 1996_

Harry James Potter had never felt more miserable in all fifteen years of his existence. For those who knew his story, this was truly saying something, for Harry had not led an easy life. However, the last year had been the worst of all, and Harry had been nowhere near recovered from the trauma of the fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry before he had been thrown into another situation that was almost as bad. Because Harry knew that although in his childhood, the Dursley's only abuse had been neglect, their hatred of him had risen so much over the last five years that the only things keeping him safe were the threat of his godfather's fury and the social embarrassment of having various witches and wizards from the Order of the Phoenix show up on their front porch.

However, the death of Sirius Black was big news; not just in wizarding circles but muggle ones as well. After all, he was the notorious escaped murderer, Sirius Black. Extremely dangerous. As soon as Cornelius Fudge leaned of Sirius's death, he contacted the muggle authorities to tell them of Sirius' demise. Soon, the news that Black was dead, and everyone was save, was all over the news channels. And Harry had almost been able to see the Dursley's minds clicking into gear as they stared at him past the large and bulky television set.

Still, he had had the Order's promise of protection to fall back on, and the idea that this may save him lasted only about a week into his summer vacation. It was then that Harry, and the Dursley's, noted that it had been seven days since Harry had spoken to anyone from the Order, and there hadn't been a bit of magical activity anywhere near Number 4 Privet Drive. Honestly, Harry hadn't thought Vernon brave enough to call the Order's bluff. Of course, he also hadn't known there was any bluff to call. He had been under the impression they had meant it, as strange as that sounded to him now.

It had been a month since Harry had entered the Dursley's household for the summer, and it was now only a week until his 16th birthday. But Harry did not feel like the Boy Who Lived, who would celebrate his birthday with his friends, with people who were like family to him. Who could look forward to gifts, warm smiles, well wishes and cheer. Now, he didn't even know why he bothered remembering what day it was. No one else would.

Currently, Harry was curled up, as small as possible, in the cupboard under the stairs. He was already small for his age, and malnourished; curling up like this made him a tiny target when faced with the rage of his relatives. He wasn't faced with them now, but he always assumed this position, trying to make himself safe, invisible, in a world that had become bewilderingly dangerous in only a few short weeks. He lay, perfectly silent and perfectly still. He had the act down pat; no muscle quivered, no careless breath moved his chest, no flicker of emotion crossed his still, blank face. It was as if he had simply died in his sleep, and no one had yet discovered the body. But Harry was not dead. At least – not yet. But how he wished he were...

Every single part of him ached. There was barely a white spot left on his body from the various bruises splotched over him, numerous cuts and scratches from Dudley's prized Swiss army knife burned from the contact of the rough carpet beneath Harry's bare chest. A particularly nasty looking bruise on his chest showed where a couple of ribs had been fractured, and had healed poorly on their own. He had a black eye that was swollen and nearly impossible to see past, and a raw and bloodied lip. His hands were rough, and bleeding as though he had been punching someone, rather then having simply suffered the effects of hours of scrubbing the floors, or weeding the garden, or doing whatever other chore they assigned him. Every single one of Harry's muscles seemed to have failed him, every patch of skin burned or ached. And his mind... his mind was far more broken then his body.

Harry knew his mind was not the same. He recognized that, but could not work up the energy to care. In the last year, Dumbledore had proven his cowardice by betraying Harry and avoiding him for a year, nearly getting him killed in the process. Ron and Hermione had shown him that when push came to shove, their true loyalty lay not with their friend, but with their headmaster, the one who could carry them to glory and greatness, the one who had all the answers. Umbridge had pronounced him a liar, and had tortured him with her quill without anyone seeming to notice or care. Most of the students had turned their backs on him. And Sirius. Sirius was dead. Gone. The only person Harry had left of his family, the one person, aside from Remus, that Harry trusted completely.

But now what did Harry have?

He had a broken, shattered body.

That was about it.

It was numbing, in a way, to realize that his body, and the clothes that covered it, were the only things in the world he had, now that the Dursley's had taken everything else away. As he lay there in that cupboard, perfectly still, quietly enduring both the mental and physical torture of the last couple of weeks, he realized that he was not going to survive until the end of the summer.

In some ways, the thought was calming. It would mean an end. An end to the pain inside of him, and end to everything. But the Durlsey's were not stupid. They weren't actually setting out to kill him. One day, they would go too far. Harry knew they would. But maybe not for weeks. And that just wasn't soon enough.

He winced, suddenly, alarmed by what he was thinking. Harry Potter was not the type to commit suicide. And even if he were, he had enough pride left to not want the Dursley's to push him into ending his own life. It would be much too satisfactory for them. He would survive as long as he could, no matter what it cost him. With that thought in mind, Harry cleared away the wince that had marred his features, then let himself drift off to sleep, welcoming the darkness that meant the pain would disappear.

_Still Number 4, Privet Drive_

_The Next Morning_

"BOY!"

Harry looked up from the cloth he clutched in one pruned, scarred hand, and glanced across the kitchen floor to the door that led to the parlor, where the voice was coming from. His eyes were at half mast, as he struggled to stay awake, his usual state after the insomnia that had gripped him shortly after arriving back at Number 4. He dropped the soaping rag back into the bucket of water, and sat back on his heels, wincing slightly as he rubbed his raw hands onto the leg of his baggy sweat pants, trying to dry them.

"BOY! GET IN HERE!"

Somehow, Harry wasn't entirely sure how, Harry managed to stand up, nearly crying out as his swollen and battered knees protested the movement. Staggering, he managed to move across the kitchen and towards the parlor, pausing in the doorway. He stared in some disgust at his uncle, who lay sprawled into his favorite armchair, staring at the television as if hypnotized, the remote dangling from limp fingers. Vernon sensed Harry in the room and glanced over.

"About time." The man grumbled angrily, "Get the mail."

Harry moved automatically towards the front hall to obey, then paused as a memory washed over him, flickering through his mind like a tape that had been viewed too many times and was starting to fade. He had been only ten years old, and hadn't known a thing about wizards other then what he read in fiction books. Harry, Dudley, Vernon and Petunia had been sitting around the kitchen table, and they had all heard the mail fall through the slot into the front hall.

"Get the mail, Dudley" Vernon had muttered, absently.

"Make Harry get it." Dudley had whined in return.

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your smelting stick, Dudley."

Harry had gotten the mail. And that was when the had seen the letter – the first letter he had ever received, the first ray of hope that his life might be more then just a broken existence under the Dursley's torture. Now, as Harry moved to get the mail, he wondered what he would have done differently back then, knowing what he did not. He would have learned not to trust so easily, to question the world of his headmaster, and of those who wanted to befriend him, for one thing. Harry had been manipulated and taken advantage of once; he was determined that he would not be again. Perhaps, if he had it all to do again, it would have been better if he'd never gotten himself into that mess in the first place. If he had simply run away from the Dursley's and made a life of his own.

Technically, that was still an option. He could run away. Leave this all behind. But he could not. Some part of him still hoped, still prayed, that someone would come for him, save him. That he could have a life, instead of just struggling to survive. And as he walked towards the front fall, his mind was focused entirely on the mail, a foolish, optimistic part of him desperately hoping, even expecting to see a letter there. Not a letter telling him of supplies needed for the next year, but one from a friend, from Remus, maybe, or even Ron, just someone who could get him out of here. Of course, as he lifted the pile of envelopes, and shifted through them, he saw only bills and a random postcard. An absurd sense of disappointment filled him. Of course there was nothing for him.

Harry started to turn back towards the parlor, but froze in place as a strange noise met his ears. It was a soft, pained cry, but not a human sound. Animal. Definitely animal. It was Hedwig. Rage shot through Harry, and before he even knew what he was doing, before he registered the pain his movements cost him, he dropped the letters and bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time to reach his owl.

Dudley had managed to get Hedwig from Harry's old bedroom, and was holding the owl captive in his own room. He held a smoking candle over the owl's cage, allowing the hot wax to drip over the side and onto Hedwig's back. She gave soft, strange, cries of pain, and rattled fiercely in her cage, but she could not escape or make the older boy stop.

"Dudley, stop!" Harry screamed, the first words he had spoken in days. He lunged forward and knocked the candle from the other boy's hand, knocking it to the ground. Dudley spun back in surprise, but grinned a stupid, evil grin. Harry recognized that look; he had come to know it, come to dread it, over the last four weeks.

"No.." He gave the soft, low cry but knew that protest was useless, that even as he turned towards the door, Dudley would grab him before he could run. The other boy may not have been faster then Harry, but he was stronger, and much bigger. Dudley swung his fist towards Harry's face, and Harry barely had time to cry out in fear before the other boy's fist hit his already-blackened eye. Pain rocketed through him,causing him to drop to the ground, and he almost passed out from the sheer agony of the blow. By the time he had scrambled to his knees and cleared his vision, Dudley had closed the door and was advancing on him. Hedwig, in her cage on the shelf behind him, was still crying out, but if her shrieks were heard from those downstairs they were ignored.

Dudley grinned that horrible smile once more before grabbing Harry's shoulders and pulling him towards him, kissing him with a wet, slobby, forceful kiss that nearly made Harry gag. Desperately, he pushed backwards, away from his cousin, and landed on his back on the rough floor.

"No, Dudley, please."

He wanted to scream, wanted to yell and pray that someone would save him. But he was ashamed. He felt broken, defiled, as if nothing were ever going to be right or good in him again. This was his fault, his mind told him, and he could not refute it, though he wanted to. Besides, he knew that Vernon and Petunia knew what was going on. But they would never admit it. Never accept it. And never save him.

Dudley dropped heavily to his knees and lay over Harry, his unbelievable weight pressing Harry into the floor as he kissed the smaller boy again, forcing his tongue past Harry's lips, making Harry sob and splutter and gag. Dudley was pulling down Harry's pants, even as Harry fought fiercely, uselessly, beneath the bulk of his cousin. The chubby, sausage like hand wrapped around Harry, squeezed, stroked roughly and Harry felt sickened.

Then Dudley was removing his own shorts, pinning Harry down with his chest and shoulders as he wiggled out of his trousers and drawers. He managed to lift his weight off the smaller boy, grabbing him, turning him, forcing him into position. And still Harry struggled, crying out quietly, begging, pleading Dudley to let him go. Hot tears of shame and fury poured down Harry's cheeks, and when Dudley entered him dry with one rough, harsh movement, Harry could not hold back the scream of pain. He crumpled forward, the fight gone out of him, and allowed Dudley to hold him up as the other boy plunged in and out of him from behind. Blood trickled down Harry's thighs, and Dudley's hot , putrid breath washed over his neck and ears as the older boy grunted and squealed like a pig in his pleasure. Then it was over. Dudley pulled out, and Harry heard him moving around, but did not move, did not open his eyes, merely lay there, crumpled, and cried silent tears.

Finally, long after the other boy had gone, Harry found the strength to stand. To clean himself up with a numb, empty mind, to dress and make himself look as normal as possible. But he didn't leave Dudley's room. Not yet. He crossed the room to his owl's cage and opened it, letting Hedwig hop feebly onto his arm. With tears still drying on his cheeks, Harry got a cloth and removed as much of the wax as he could, wincing at his friend's burned skin. Then he moved to the window, flung it open.

"Go to Remus." He whispered. "It's not safe for you here. I will find you again, girl."

The owl regarded him with her wise, golden eyes, and Harry was almost positive she knew exactly what he was saying. Hopping further up his arm, she nuzzled his cheek, the friendly, caring gesture causing moor tears to leak out of Harry's eyes. Then the owl moved to the window sill and spread her wings, cautiously testing if they could still hold her after the burning wax. Then she jumped, her wings holding her up and carrying her through the air. Harry watched her until she disappeared from view, then felt himself stiffening in terror when he heard the door open again behind him. He knew that Dudley had returned, but there was no way he was going to come at him again, right?

Instead, Dudley noticed that his newest toy was no longer in it's cage. Harry spun and watched the boy's glazed, stupid eyes flash from the cage to the open window, to Harry's face.

"What did you do?" Dudley roared, crossing the room to Harry. Harry winced, and drew back, then relaxed slightly as Dudley changed course to Hedwig's cage. But the older boy snatched the top of the metal cage and swung it like a weapon, smashing into the side of Harry's face. Harry fell backwards , almost toppling through the window. He snatched the sill to save himself, and pushed himself forward back into the room, moving away from the open window as he clutched his jaw.

"You idiot!" Dudley screamed, "That was mine! "

Harry thought of Hedwig's pained cries, her trusting face, the way she had nuzzled her cheek. A sudden, unexpected rage shot through him.

"No. She wasn't. She was my friend." He croaked, his voice still rough from disuse and hoarse from crying, "You could have seriously hurt her."

"That was the point." Dudley grunted, his expression dark. "The stupid bird isn't your friend. You don't have any friends. You don't have any family. You don't have anyone or anything. Even your stupid godfather died rather then hang around you!"

He swung the cage again, and crashed it into the other side of Harry's head. Harry fell, and lay for a moment, still and silent on the ground. Rage was still pumping through him, an anger unlike any he had felt since first arriving at the Durleys that summer. He was so sick of it. So, so tired of being pushed around, beaten up, raped, and taken advantage of. He hated that the Dursleys could mock the people he loved, torture the only friend he'd still had with him, and leave him crumpled in a corner to suffer alone.

No matter what had happened to him in the past year, the people who had betrayed him, the ones who had died, no matter what he had and what he didn't, no matter who respected him and who didn't, he was till the bloody Boy Who Lived. He was Harry Bloody Potter, and Harry Potter didn't just put up with this. He glanced up into Dudley's red face and, without warning, launched himself at his cousin. Only the fact that he'd taken Dudley by surprise allowed him to knock the older boy to the ground, but he didn't allow Dudley to recover. All his rage and pain of the last month poured out of him as he plowed his fists into his cousin's stomach and face again and again, hitting as hard as he could, wherever he could, until Dudley recovered his senses and tossed Harry bodily from him. Harry smashed into the wall, smacking his head hard and falling to the ground yet again.

Dudley didn't attack him though. Instead, sobbing and blubbering and screaming, he dashed from the room and down the stairs. Harry managed to stand yet again, stumbling to the door and slamming it shut, fumbling for the lock. When he was safely locked inside the room, he scrambled back against the furthest wall and curled up, making himself as small as possible. A moment later, he heard a roar of rage from downstairs, and Petunia's scream. Then there were heavy, thundering footsteps on the stairs, and Vernon pounded on the door.

"BOY! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!"

Harry remained silent, cowering in his terror. His rage had faded, leaving him with a sense that he had done something incredibly stupid, and was already regretting it. Vernon began slamming his body weight against the door, preparing to break it down. One slam. The door shuddered violently. With the second slam, there was a cracking sound, as if the wood around the lock were weakening. With the third and final slam, the wood around the lock splintered, and the door swung open. Moving surprisingly fast for a man of his size, he shot across the room and hauled Harry to his feet. Without a word, he dragged a struggling and protesting Harry out of the room, down the stairs, and into the parlor, tossing him carelessly at Dudley's feet.

"LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY SON!"

Dudley scrambled back from Harry, as if afraid, and hid behind his mother, who was standing in the corner and regarding Harry with fierce eyes, hatred seeping out of every pore. Before, Petunia had looked away when Harry was about to be beaten, or left the room. Sometimes she even cried for him. But that had clearly changed. Harry had just lost the only person who had any sympathy for him in this home. He didn't care, though. There was no way out of this – he had done the unforgivable and fought back for once. Now, he had to pay the price.

Harry yelped as Vernon suddenly yanked him up from the ground and slammed him into the mantle. He gasped as all the breath left his body, then choked as his uncle pounded a beefy fist into Harry's stomach. Harry screamed brokenly as he crumbled t the ground, and he felt the pain of whaling fists and kicking feet. He heard a crack and knew that his ribs had broken yet again. Vernon slammed down hard on his arm, at least fracturing, possibly breaking it, causing Harry to yell again as agony pierced through him. He sobbed, begging for the pain to end. A final kick was aimed at his face, and his glasses shattered. A red hot fire of pain flashed through his eyes. And then, suddenly, there was a loud CRACK. Harry would have recognized the sound anywhere. Someone had apparated into the room. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. More then one someone.

Harry began to cry harder, because the beating had stopped, and there was hope. Whoever this was, surely they would save him. He tried to get to his feet, and only managed to land on his hands and knees. He couldn't see anything. The room appeared to be fading from his view. First, it was as if there were a thick mist obscuring his vision, but as he moved forward, it grew darker until the room was pitch black. The pain was too much. He heard his own pained, desperate cries, but beyond that there more more screams, flashes and bangs, shouts and screams of rage. He crumbled to the carpet get again, but could not curl up as he usually did, his broken ribs impeding the movement. So he lay there, uselessly, sobbing out his pain, crying for help. Finally, the room faded to near silence, except for his gut-wrenching cries. A horrible smell pierced the air – a coppery smell. Blood. Was it his? Harry was in too much pain to care.

He heard the sound of someone cursing quietly, as if in horror. Someone else in the room was gagging. But there was one... footsteps approached him; light, gentle steps that could not belong to his uncle or cousin. Still, Harry drew back automatically, cringing, his arms flashing up to cover his eyes, which still burned with a horrible, endless pain. A soft voice was speaking. Soothing him, whispering gently to him. The voice was familiar to Harry, but he could not place it – it was a warm, velvet voice, and he instinctively wanted to trust its owner. Still, experience had him trying to move backwards, knowing it was unsafe to trust this unknown person.

Hands were on his shoulder. Lifting him, pulling him into someone's arms. Someone was cradling him, as if he were a small child. Urgent commands were being spoken in the background: they were preparing to take him somewhere. Somewhere safe, they said. They would heal him. He recognized other voices too, but could not place them, either.

"No!" Harry wailed, "Please, please, leave me..."

The person cradling Harry tightened his hold automatically.

"No, Harry." The voice replied softly. "Calm yourself."

Harry reached up, clutched at the person's robe.

~ Kill Me ~ He hissed, barely realizing, in his pain and terror, that he was speaking parseltongue. Then, to his surprise, the person replied in the same tongue.

~Never. I will never hurt you again ~

And the person reached up their wand, and Harry felt the tip of the wand resting against his temple. The person murmured a spell, one that would make Harry fall asleep. But he struggled against the sudden, overwhelming weariness. He needed to think. To understand what this all meant. And just as sleep overwhelmed him, Harry pieced it all together.

The man was speaking Parseltongue. He could only be Lord Voldemort. And yet his voice, which Harry had found so difficult to place, had been that of a 17 year old Tom Riddle, the one Harry had heard in his second year. The other voices had been Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape, voices he should have recognized sooner.

Voldemort had found him. Harry didn't know how, or why he was being treated so well, or why Voldemort would swear not to hurt him. He also didn't know why Voldemort sounded exactly as he had when he was 17 years old. But sleep crept up on him, and before he could think any further, he fell into unconsciousness.

_June 24th, 1996_

_Riddle Manor_

Tom Morvolo Riddle sat in one of the tall chairs in his darkened meeting hall, enjoying the silence and the dark of the empty room. He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands, and for the first time in a while was far too distracted to marvel at the strands of dark hair that fell over his fingers. Ever since Harry's blood had been used to restore Voldemort's body in the cemetery, Voldemort had been slowly regaining the youthful appearance he had had while in his last year at Hogwarts. He had needed to use a glamor, of course, during his attack on the Ministry of Magic, so no one would know, but in the last couple of weeks, the transformation had completed, making him look exactly like his seventeen year old self.

He had no energy to remain happy about that, however, because he had far more pressing things on his mind. Such as the near-death of one Harry James Potter. A year ago, Voldemort would have been thrilled to find the protective barrier around Harry's house gone, with a near-dead Harry inside. Now Tom Riddle was merely filled with relief – relief that they had gotten there in time, that the boy would survive his ordeal.

It was all that boy's fault. A year ago, Voldemort had been ugly, cruel, dark. Now, he was handsome once more, and though he still felt darkness churning within him, none of it would be – or could be, directed at Harry. He wanted to say that the only reason he felt this way about the boy was because of some demented magic their blood transfusion had done. But he knew it wasn't true. He had cared about Harry long before that, but he had not known how to handle it. He had been cold, cruel and heartless for so long. He had decided Harry was a necessary sacrifice, and had tried desperately to kill him. Even as the blood continued its work, allowed him to care for Harry as normal people cared for each other, he had tried yet again to kill Harry at the Ministry. And he had failed. He was unable to do it. He had come to care far too much about the teen. For a while, it had infuriated him. But then, he had learned from Severus and Draco what had happened to Harry in the previous year, and he realized Harry needed him.

All summer, Voldemort had been searching desperately for Harry, but the blood bond had been protecting his location. However, that afternoon, something had changed. Voldemort didn't know what it was, but the blood bond was no longer protecting Harry. He had been able to apparate to him shortly after the bond had broken. And just in time, too, as it seemed. Again and again the images flashed through his mind, the sight of Harry, broken and bloody, trying to crawl across the floor, desperately trying to escape. He remembered the amazing feeling of holding Harry in his arms, of clutching him tightly to him. Then Harry's whispered plea, "Kill Me". It broke his heart, that plea, and that pain was an unfamiliar feeling for him. But he was determined. He would protect Harry. But he would not change. If Harry could not accept him, could not accept that despite his unexplainable feelings for the boy, he was still the Dark Lord, then they wouldn't have the kind of relationship he craved. But he would still protect Harry. Because he... had to.

Suddenly, there was a quiet knock on the door, and Voldemort glanced around. Straightening and schooling his expression, he called out, "Enter."

Lucius Malfoy entered the room, walking forward until he reached his Master's chair, and bowing low.

"Harry Potter is awake, my Lord."

Voldemort stood quickly. It had been two days since they had rescued Harry from the Dursley's house. The Sleep spell should have worn off a long time ago, and Voldemort had feared for the child's life, despite Severus' assurances that the boy simply needed rest.

"Very well." He said, forcing an outward calm. "Lead the way."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: _As the Darkness Clears _

Pairing: _Harry/Voldemort _

Summary: _Harry returns the summer after his fifth year to discover the Dursley's are no longer afraid of him. What happens when their abuse goes too far, and Harry ends up permanently blind? Of course, it is only when Harry can no longer see the world that he begins to 'see' it as it truly is. _

A/N: _Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Especially Webpixie for the corrections. And no worries – It's definitely going to stay Harry/Voldemort. : D Also, sorry for the extreme OOC ness... _

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Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy walked swiftly and assuredly down the twisting halls of Riddle Manor. Voldemort, with his new appearance, looked very much like his seventeen year old self. He was classically handsome, with thick, jet black hair and dark, fathomless eyes. His skin, though still pale, no longer seemed supernaturally so, and his long fingers seemed slender and graceful rather then mutated, as they had appeared in his other form. Still, despite his younger, more innocent look he had not lost his sense of command or power.

Voldemort moved through the halls with ease, expecting those he met along the way to stand aside, to bow. He was used to being treated like a lord, like king, and he continued to be so. Lucius, walking along at his side, cared little about the new look the Potter boys blood had granted his lord. He was not, however, entirely certain about his lord's change of heart towards the boy. Lord Voldemort was the darkest wizard of their time, perhaps of any time, and he had spent the last 15 years focused only on ending the life of Harry Potter. His first attempt for the boy's life had completely destroyed him. And now he was – what? In _love _with the child?

Lucius had not thought it possible for his Lord to love, for him to care about anything. But if it was possible, then he certainly cared about Potter, now. For whatever reason. Whether it was just due to the transfusion of Potter's blood, or whether it had always been, he honestly didn't know. Then again... the scene Lucius had witnessed at the Muggle's house yesterday had been completely unexpected. He had been unprepared for seeing the boy's bloody, broken body lying on the ground, the Muggles standing over him, with looks of pure hatred on their faces. And they were the boy's _family_. Had he truly lived like that his entire life? Whoever said the Boy Who Lived led a charmed life? It was making him rethink a lot of what he knew about Potter, and he wasn't sure he appreciated that.

And the _rage _with which Voldemort had murdered the Dursley family. Lucius had thought that he had seen his Lord at his most furious before, but he had never seen him so truly furious, so mindlessly enraged, as he had been as he killed the Muggles. And after – still soaked in the blood of his victims – he had cradled the boy in his arms as if he were nothing more then an infant, and each time Potter screamed, his Lord's face had gone paler, as if even the sounds brought _him_ physical pain... Lucius didn't know what to think of it all. But he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were loyal to the end. He would not leave his Lord's side.

Voldemort and Lucius reached the door to Harry's room just as Severus Snape did. Severus' face was just as unreadable as Lucius knew his to be, yet he knew his friend was just as baffled by recent events. Still, his Lord truly _cared _what happened to the Potter boy now, so when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

"My Lord, excuse me for saying so, but I believe that I should be the one to speak with the Potter br... boy, first. I am aware that he hates me almost as much as he hates you," here he gave a small nod of apology, before adding, "but at least he believes I value my job at Hogwarts too much to kill him."

Voldemort frowned at the door to Potter's room for a moment, and it was clear he wanted to ignore Severus' advice and burst into the room himself. After a moment, however, he turned from the door, scowling darkly.

"Very well. Just tell him what he needs to know, for now. There is much I would prefer to explain to him myself."

With a nod, Severus turned from his Lord and entered Harry's rooms.

* * *

_Where was he_?

Harry woke slowly, keeping his eyes perfectly closed, listening, trying to figure out where he was, what had happened. He knew he wasn't at the Dursley's. The bed he was lying on was large and extremely soft – more comfortable then any bed he'd ever been on. He certainly wasn't in the cupboard under the stairs. The only thing he heard was the soft sounds of birds singing, from outside the window.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

_Darkness. _

Frowning, his hands shot up to his face, to remove whatever was covering his eyes.

_Nothing. _

How could it be so dark? Scrambling from the bed, Harry slammed his leg hard on a table of some sort and fell forward to the ground. Managing to get to his hands and knees, he crawled to the wall and places his hand against it, feeling for the window. When he found it, he hauled himself to his feet and pressed his hand against it. Heat radiated from behind the glass, and he could hear the bird call louder now.

_It was the middle of the day. _

Desperately, his hands slapped over the window, scrambling for the latch. He swung it open and leaned his head out the window. Sure enough, the warmth of the sun his his face. He could vaguely see a warm sort of glow, as if he were seeing the sun from behind closed eyes. But his eyes were definitely open. Bracing his hands on either side of the window, Harry stood there, feeling the sun's rays. Tears of confusion and fear filled his eyes.

Suddenly, he heard the door open behind him. Swiftly, he spun from the window, reaching for his wand automatically before he remembered it wasn't there. Moving away from the window, he let himself bump into the nearest wall and pressed his back against it, as far away from the door as he could get.

The voice of Severus Snape, soft and somewhat chilling, filled the room.

"Potter. You should not be out of bed. You are not well enough to be about."

Harry stiffened in surprise at hearing his professor's voice, then felt a flare of anger. He felt as if he were in potions class and had made yet another terrible error. But this was no potions class. He had no idea where he was, and something was _very _wrong.

"Where am I?" He snapped angrily, ignoring Snape's words. "What have you done to me?"

It made sense, Harry supposed, in a twisted way. He'd always known Snape was working for Voldemort: this only confirmed it. He had heard Snape's voice – along with Voldemort's and Lucius Malfoy's – right before he'd passed out at the Dursleys. If Voldemort had kidnapped him, whatever was making his world so dark was probably a spell – something to disorient him.

"You are at Riddle Manor." Snape replied coolly. "You were brought here when it was decided your aunt and uncle's house was no longer... suited. As for what I've _done _to you, I've done nothing but help the healers with your wounds."

"I meant my eyes!" Harry cried, "What have you done to my eyes?"

"_Nothing_." For the first time, Snape's voice softened, as if with sympathy. "The healers are skilled, Potter, but they can't heal everything."

Harry froze as he remembered the last few seconds before Voldemort's arrival at Number 4. How Vernon's kick had aimed too close to his face, how his glasses had shattered, the _pain_... How his world had started going gray.

"No." He whispered. "No, that's not possible. _You're lying_!"

His professor sighed. "Why would I lie? I am sorry to be the bearer of this news, Potter, but your uncle's attack had left you permanently blind. There was nothing we can do."

Harry stood frozen a minute more, as waves of shock crashed over him. This just couldn't _be_. Nothing could be permanent – not in this world. It wasn't _possible. _

"NO!" He shouted, rage and disbelief intermingling. "NO! YOU'RE LYING! ARE YOU A WIZARD OR NOT? FIX THIS!"

Harry fell forward, landing hard on his knees but not caring. He crawled back towards the window, and Snape took several hurried steps after him, obviously fearing he might intend to fling himself out of it. Instead, Harry slammed his palm flat against the glass, feeling the suns rays on his skin.

"WHY CAN'T I SEE?" He roared, his voice breaking as tears poured helplessly down his cheeks. "I want to _see_."

Severus stood back, unsure what to do, to say. How did one comfort someone who had just discovered they would never see again? A sense of anger and betrayal filled him as he thought of Dumbledore, who had promised himself and the other professors that, above all things, Harry was safe at his relative's house. That it was the _only _safe place for him. He looked at the boy now, still with bandages around his ribs and arm, though most of the bruises and cuts had faded with some help from Severus' potions. He was also far lighter and thinner then he should have been. His aunt and uncle – and perhaps his cousin had well – had clearly been abusing him for more then just the day they rescued him.

Severus watched quietly as Harry leaned heavily against the window, his palm pressed against the glass, his tears silent now. He didn't appear to hear Severus as the older man quietly turned and left the room.

Severus met Lucius and his Lord once more in the hall way, his expression grim.

"My Lord, I was only able to tell him of the consequences of his uncle's abuse, nothing more." Severus said, "He's too upset to listen at the moment. You will have to tell him the rest another day, I am afraid. At least now, he knows where he is, and what happened. It will not be such a shock when you enter the room to speak to him."

Voldemort nodded grimly and scowled at the door for a moment, then swung around in a whirlwind of robes and strode off down the hall. Exchanging meaningful glances, Lucius and Severus followed.

* * *

_Two Days Later _

Voldemort, the one who was once known as Tom Morvolo Riddle, sat quietly in a chair in the corner of Harry's room, his expression bleak. For the past two days, Harry had done nothing but sit at that window, his hand on the glass. At night, when the warmth of the sun had fled, he would tilt his gaze up, as if desperately trying to see the moon and the sky full of stars. He hadn't eaten, or slept, or _moved_, even, and he was getting weaker by the day, fading away...

Voldemort was not entirely certain the boy knew he was there. He'd entered the room only a few short hours after Severus had left, only to find the child in this sorry state and showing no signs of leaving it. Suddenly, Voldemort noticed a change in the boy. Despite his strongest will, Harry was falling asleep against the wall, his eyelids drooping, his body jerking every time he realized he was dropping off. Cautiously, Voldemort stood and crossed the room, lifting Harry into his arms. More then half-asleep already, the boy seemed to react instinctively, curling closer to Voldemort's chest.

For a moment, Voldemort closed his eyes. The boy was as light as a child in his arms, and in his sleep, when all his inhibitions were down, he lay against him so trustingly. As if some part of him knew he meant him no harm. Regretfully, Voldemort relinquished him to the bed, and covered him with the blanket. Then he sank back into his chair to watch over Harry until the boy woke.

However it was not to be. An hour later, a knock sounded at the door, and Lucius strode in. His expression was harried, his eyes dark with annoyance.

"My Lord." The man bowed, then straightened. "Dumbledore and his people have finally discovered the boy's disappearance and the Muggle's death."

Voldemort could hardly believe it had taken them nearly a week. And they professed to care for the boy! Peering at the other man's face, he said, "There's something else."

Lucius nodded reluctantly. "Yes, my Lord. Dumbledore is blaming the death of the Dursley family on Harry. He believes the boy killed them."

Voldemort stood swiftly, anger and disbelief crossing his features for a only a moment before he carefully schooled his expression.

"Gather everyone in the meeting hall. It is past time I spoke with them about the boy anyway." Voldemort muttered darkly, then gestured for Lucius to leave the room ahead of him. Casting one last look at the boy on the bed, Voldemort followed, his expression grim.

The meeting hall in Riddle Manor had been redesigned since it's time as the Riddle Family ballroom. Now, the room remained dark, shaded, even during the brightest of days. The high arched ceiling and black marble floors added to the mystique of the room, as did the large snake carving in the center of the floor, which clearly showed the death eater symbol, in the one place where they did not have to hide their identity from the world. Tapestries hung on the wall, depicting battles of old and of new, horrific wars between the Light and the Dark that had lasted for centuries.

The only furniture in the room was a large, long oak table that seemed to stretch from one end of the room to the other. Despite it's extravagance, the room truly was not that large, and the table took up most of the room, around which each of Voldemort's followers could seat themselves comfortably. Now, Voldemort stood, strong and proud at the head of the table, overlooking his brave and loyal followers with dark pride in his eyes. As everyone settled into their seats, Voldemort gestured for Severus to stand.

Doing so, Severus pulled his wand from a pocket of his robes and held it up towards his head. As the silvery stream of memory left his mind and entered his wand, he spoke.

"This morning, I was called upon to visit Dumbledore in his office."

Pulling his wand away, he did not release the memory in a pensive, but instead muttered a complex spell and released the memory into the room, so that all could witness it.

_A scene unfolded. It was undoubtedly the headmaster's office, with Dumbledore himself seated calmly behind his desk, and Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall standing on the other side, their expressions blank. _

"_Are you going to tell us what this is about, Headmaster?" Minerva asked finally. _

_With a brisk nod, Dumbledore steeped his fingers and peered at his two most trusted teachers over the tips of them. _

"_Yes. I believe that something has happened to put Harry in some danger. I think that the Blood Bond between himself and his aunt may have broken." _

_Minerva gasped, but Severus' only reaction was a slight stiffening. _

"_How could that happen?" Minerva asked. _

"_There are only two reasons for this Blood Bond to have broken." Dumbledore replied. "The first, being if Petunia had, for some reason, lost all sympathy for the boy. The second being only with her death." _

_Unable to help himself, Severus asked, "And how has the boy been until now, Headmaster?" _

_Dumbledore looked surprised at the question. "Well, Severus, I do not know. I can hardly keep an eye on all my students during the summer months, can I?"_

_Minerva looked surprised as well, but her shock was focused on Dumbledore. "But Headmaster, surely the Order -" _

"_The Order has more important things to work on right now, Minerva. We believed Harry would be safe at his relative's house. If that has changed, we can move him elsewhere." _

_Because he had begun to sound defensive, Dumbledore settled back in his chair, clearly forcing himself to calm down. Minerva looked furious, but was struggling to calm her expression as well. _

"_Either way, we must go to the Dursley household today, to check up on Harry. I wish you two to go with me, if you would." _

_Minerva and Severus exchanged glances, then nodded. _

_The scene changed. Now, Dumbledore, Minerva and Severus were standing outside the doors of Number 4, Privet Drive. The house was dark, and looked somewhat foreboding in this plain but clearly nice and friendly neighborhood. They walked up to the house, and even before Severus could open the door, they smelled the overwhelming stench of blood. Severus could hardly believe it – it had been _days _since he had been here with Lucius and Voldemort. Was this family truly so unlikeable that no one had bothered to check on them for five days? Reluctantly, he swung the door open wide. _

_With the door open now, the stench was even more overwhelming. The sunlight that streamed in through the windows and doors of the house lit up the rivers of blood in the carpeted floors, the awkwardly piled bodies of Harry's relatives. The room was a bloodbath, like a scene straight out of a Muggle horror flick. Dumbledore glanced around with shock in his normally bright and cheerful gaze. _

"_Look for Harry." he urged. _

_They looked. In every room, in every nook and cranny. Obviously, Harry wasn't there. Minerva, however, noticed that his wand, trunk and owl were missing. _

"_There is only one explanation." Dumbledore said, his voice grim, "I was afraid something like this might happen. The child has so much rage in him, and if Voldemort were still playing with his mind..." _

_Severus looked at the headmaster in disbelief, guessing what the old man was getting to. Minerva only looked baffled. _

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I'm afraid, Minerva, that Harry has snapped. He must have killed his relatives before running away with his owl and trunk."_

"_But if Harry had used his wand, we would know!" She protested. _

_With a glance towards the mangled bodies, Dumbledore replied, "I didn't say he had used his wand." Shaking his head darkly, Dumbledore started to leave the room. "Come along. We must tell the Minister what Harry has done." He shot a look of regret over his shoulder that Severus did not believe for a moment. "I wish it had not come to this." _

The silence in the room was complete. Even those who did not know Potter well, who only knew he was the child their Master had desperately wanted to destroy, seemed surprised at the scenes they had witnessed. Finally, Severus spoke.

"My Lord, I see no way that Harry can return to school. Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic now believe that Harry murdered his relatives and ran away."

Voldemort sighed, pressing a hand to the bridge of his nose. "Yes. I will think of something. However, in a moment I must return to him, I have the feeling he will not sleep long. But first, I must say something to all of you."

Straightening his robes, Voldemort continued, "For the past fifty years, I have been at the forefront of the war against Dumbledore. Many of you have followed me faithfully for much of your lives. Despite the confusion of recent events, I hope you all remember what we have set out to accomplish. We know of Dumbledore's manipulative ways. We know the damage that he could cause if he were truly in power. Whatever my reasons for bringing Harry here, he can be more of an asset to our side then a hindrance, especially once he knows the truth about my past, and about his. Some of it, I believe he already suspects. There are things about Dumbledore's plans that he can tell us that even my spy has been unable to glean. He has also proven himself a strong fighter in the past. For now, I ask that you accept him, and trust in me, as you have done in the past."

With a brisk nod, Voldemort turned and left the room, leaving his followers in silent contemplation.

* * *

_Silence. _

_Darkness. _

This time, when Harry woke, these things did not confuse him. He knew where he was. He knew what had happened to him. His mind felt numb, as if he had gone into shock and could not feel the pain of it anymore. Still, when his eyes opened, they searched about in the darkness, of their own will, as if they still could not accept that they were no longer useful. Harry sensed someone sitting near him, and he lay perfectly still. Perhaps the person had not noticed he was awake.

"Harry."

Harry jerked in shock at the sound of that voice – once again he compared it to warm velvet. He wanted to trust that voice, yet, knowing who it belonged to, he could not. In his surprise, he tried to scramble away and fell, hard, off the bed on the other side. The owner of the voice stood swiftly, but Harry had scrambled to his feet and was backing away, hands held out in front of him like a shield. Once more, he bumped into a wall, and took comfort at it's strong, reliable presence at his back. At least no one could attack him from there. This time, he did not bother reaching for his wand. He knew it was not there.

"Harry, I mean you no harm."

"Don't call me that!" He shouted, unable to understand. Confusion filled him. "How can you be here? I destroyed you! I destroyed the diary. How can_ you _be here?"

Voldemort blinked as he realized his voice sounded exactly like his seventeen year old self, something Harry had heard only in his second year, when he'd destroyed Voldemort's horcrux, as well as the basilisk.

"It's thanks to you, Harry, that I am this way again. The ceremony in the graveyard not only restored my life, but my youth as well, over time. At the Ministry I used a glamor, to hide my new face, or rather, my old one, from Dumbledore."

Harry was shaking his head, but Voldemort guessed it was more in the confusion of having a normal conversation with his mortal enemy then because Harry didn't understand what he was saying. Sure enough, when Harry spoke again, he sounded angry and confused.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?" He cried, a note of desperation in his voice, "I won't tell you anything! About the Order, or about Dumbledore! So you might as well kill me!"

"Why not?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Why wouldn't you tell me anything? Why would you protect your precious Order now, or your Headmaster, knowing how they have betrayed you?"

"Whatever they've done, you're worse." Harry replied. But he didn't sound entirely certain of that.

"Harry, what has Dumbledore told you, about the reason I am... what I am?"

Harry frowned, his expression baffled. "He... he hasn't told me anything."

"Just that I am evil."

"I know you are! You've killed so many innocent people! You killed my _parents_."

"Your headmaster wanted it to happen." Voldemort replied, a snap in his voice. With the return of his youth, he had less control over his temper then he had before.

Harry shook his head. "No..."

"Yes! Harry, if I am correct, all anyone has told you of your parents death is that Pettigrew betrayed them, and that I killed them. This is true. They were members of the Order, and as such, had put themselves in the middle of a war. They had also put themselves in front of you, and at the time I believed your death was the only way to win the war. What your headmaster did not tell you, I am sure, was that Peter Pettigrew was far more clever then he appeared, for all his lack of bravery, and he was working as a spy for both Dumbledore and myself. His true allegiance, however, was to Dumbledore, and when he was made the Potter's secret keeper, Dumbledore told him that his position as spy was more important then some basic information. If it was necessary for Pettigrew to tell me where the Potters were hiding, so be it."

Harry shook his head harder. "That's not true."

"After this year, you find this so hard to believe Harry? Perhaps you forget that I was in your head last year. I know how your headmaster has treated you. Dumbledore did not believe in the prophecy, so it did not matter if you ended up dead. All he knew was that Lilly and James meant to leave the Order, to dedicate their lives to raising a family, to living out a happy, normal existence. Their deaths, and yours, would show other members of the Order that it was not safe for them to leave."

Seeing the disbelief still on Harry's face, Voldemort continued,

"How did you think Dumbledore knew of the Potter's death so quickly after it happened, Harry? He managed to get you out of that house before the Muggle police showed up." With a sigh, he said, "This is a war Harry. I admit that I have killed in the name of this war. But your headmaster has, as well. I am not trying to pretend that I am innocent of wrongdoing, nor am I saying I will never kill again in the name of the war. I _am _dark, Harry, and have practiced the dark arts since I was nothing more then a child. But I am not the only one to blame for the problems of this world. You do not understand how ruthless your precious Headmaster can be."

Harry remained still, pressing his back against the wall. His hands, balled into fists, dug into his legs as he struggled with this new information. Was it possible that Voldemort was telling the truth? He thought of how kind the old man had been to him over the years, how much he had been willing to do for him. And in this last year...

"He's afraid of you." Harry whispered. "He always seemed to be the one person who wasn't, but he is."

Voldemort nodded, though he knew Harry couldn't see the gesture. "Yes."

"That's why..." His voice faded a bit, and he had to start again. He didn't want to be saying this, to _believe _this. But it was all starting to make sense. "That's why he needed me? To stop you... because he was too afraid."

"Yes. But..." Voldemort hesitated, knowing this would be another blow on top of everything else. "He was testing you Harry. Testing both of us. In your first year, the philosophers stone hidden in the mirror of Erised was not the real stone. It was a fake. And the only reason he didn't close down the school in your second year after the Chamber reopened was because he knew you would face me... or rather, the memory of me."

Harry felt the numbness starting to settled over him again. He remembered how much he had gone through in his first couple of years, how hard he, Ron and Hermione had worked to uncover the secrets of Hogwarts and stop Voldemort... and it had all been a test? A _game_? He cradled his head in his hands, thinking hard. He didn't know what to do, who to _trust_...

Voldemort spoke again. "I've given you a lot to think about. I will send a house elf up shortly with your dinner, and visit you again in the morning." He hesitated, then added. "Just believe, Harry, whatever our past has been... I will not harm you again."

And with that, he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: _As the Darkness Clears _

Pairing: _Harry/Voldemort _

Summary: _Harry returns the summer after his fifth year to discover the Dursleys are no longer afraid of him. What happens when their abuse goes too far, and Harry ends up permanently blind? Of course, it is only when Harry can no longer see the world that he begins to 'see' it as it truly is. _

Disclaimer: _I own Nothing! _

A/N: _Thanks to Jikan no Owari for reminding me about the disclaimer! Also, Peruser pointed out that Harry wouldn't know much about Dumbledore's secrets that Voldemort didn't, and couldn't be much use to them blind, yet Voldemort told his followers that Harry would be useful. And he will be : ) Just in different ways. Also, sorry for the short chapters, but I prefer to do short chapters with frequent updates then long chapters every once in a while. _

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* * *

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Harry had settled in somewhat nicely to his new home at Riddle Manor, despite his lingering nervousness and confusion over his alliance, and the truth of the war as well as of his past. It was now the very end of July, but his birthday was the very last thing on his busy mind. Now, on this brilliantly sunny morning, he sat at a small table that was set up at one end of his room – which he'd discovered was actually pretty fast, now that he'd had the time and inclination to explore it. He was currently dressed in simple jeans and a green t-shirt, which were covered by the flowing black wizard's robes he's discovered in the wardrobe. Gally, the house elf who'd brought his food, had insisted that everyone around the manor wore the robes, and to tell the truth, he felt more comfortable in them then in anything else.

Harry had had an interesting time of learning to eat the breakfast Gally had brought him without his sight. After a couple of missteps, he'd found that it was not nearly as difficult as he thought it would be. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Harry glanced towards it, but hesitated before inviting the person in, guessing it was probably Voldemort. The night before, he'd done a lot of thinking about what he was going to do about all this, and he wasn't entirely sure. On one hand, several years of having it drilled into his mind that he was a follower of Dumbledore, of the light, made him want to flee from this place as soon as possible, or else figure out how to get his wand back and kill Voldemort before Voldemort could kill him. On the other hand, the Light hadn't been doing all that well by him lately, and all his instincts were telling him to go along with this, to trust. His instincts rarely led him astray, but he'd learned the hard way that trust was a dangerous thing.

Finally, however, he called out, "Come in!" and waited for Voldemort to speak.

But it was not Voldemort who approached the table. Already, Harry was learning to identify people by their footsteps, though the only people he had to practice with were Voldemort and Gally. Still, he knew that Voldemort's tread was light, almost airy, as if his mind were not used to controlling a younger, more human body, and simply floated him along. Around him at least, his footsteps were also hesitant, as if he approached a flighty animal. These footfalls were different. They sounded quick, excited. With some nervousness, Harry pressed back against his chair, not used to being approached so quickly, especially when he didn't know who it _was _approaching him. Apparently, whoever was walking towards him recognized his anxiety, and the reason for it, because the person spoke.

"Harry. You _are _okay. They told me -"

"_Remus!" _

Shock coursed through Harry, quickly replaced by bubbling excitement. In the last two years that Harry had known Remus, they'd gone from being simply student and teacher, to friends, and finally to something like a paternal relationship. In a strange way, he had considered Sirius and Remus his family for the majority of the last year – after all, he had no one else aside from the Muggles, and they had been his father's best friends at Hogwarts. Launching himself out of his chair, Harry shot towards the sound of Remus' voice. Remus grabbed him and hugged him hard, his surprised laughter sounding in Harry's ear.

"Hey, Harry." Remus said, releasing Harry at last, "I thought you might be needing to hear the voice of someone you trusted. The last few days must have been pretty hard on you."

Harry put a hand out and settled it on the back of one of the chairs, to orient himself as much as to steady himself.

"Remus..." He said shakily. "I don't understand. What are you doing here?"

""You mean, what am I doing in the home of the darkest wizard of all time, when I am, in fact, a member of the Order, and, by all appearances, on the side of the Light?"

Harry only nodded mutely.

"Well, that's a bit of a long story. Why don't you sit down and finish your breakfast, while we talk?"

Harry really couldn't care less about his breakfast at this point, but he nodded and returned to his seat, skipping his hand lightly along the backs of the chairs to get to his, and settling into it easily.

"You're getting good at that." Remus noted. "It's impressive. I can't imagine how strange it must be..."

Harry offered a humorless half-smile. "It seems more like a cosmic joke to me." He murmured, picking at his food. "Golden Boy of Hogwarts blinded by a fat Muggle. I managed to defeat Voldemort five times, but I couldn't stop my own family."

There was a long pause. Finally, when Remus spoke again, his voice sounded hoarse. "You have no idea how sorry I am, Harry, that I didn't show up and stop all of this long ago. But Dumbledore sent Tonks and I on a mission for the Order in the north right at the beginning of summer, and we didn't get back until late last night. That's when I heard everything from Severus."

Harry shook his head. "It's not your fault." He whispered.

Remus hesitated again, as if he planned to argue with Harry, but apparently thought better of it. With a soft sigh, he said, "To address your question, Harry, I have been working for Voldemort since I stopped teaching at Hogwarts – at the end of your fourth year. Tonks just joined me a few months ago."

Harry lowered the fork that he had risen to his mouth and looked in Remus' direction in surprise. An entire _year? _How could Remus have been working for the other side for an entire year with out someone noticing something was different? Then again, Tonks must have noticed, if she started working for the Dark Lord after Remus did.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, getting strong flashbacks to the end of last summer, when he learned his friends had been with the Order for weeks, while he had been suffering at the Dursley's. Harry didn't believe for an instant that the reason was the same; he did trust Remus, and knew that if it was a simple matter of someone else telling him _not _to tell Harry, he would anyway, especially if Harry was in a bad situation. So Remus must have had some other reason.

"I wanted to, Harry, but... there were several reasons I couldn't. For one thing, at that point you were completely and totally devoted to Dumbledore. It took me a while to believe everything that Voldemort told me about Dumbledore, and even when it made sense, when I realized it was the truth, I knew how much harder it would be for you to accept. Nearly impossible, I believed. I didn't tell Sirius either, because he was of the same mindset. He'd had a bias against Slytherins and dark magic, and everything since he was a child, not that I can blame him, the way he grew up. Besides, last year Voldemort was still a tyrant. He knew that... things were different, since your blood transfusion, but part of him was still as mad as he had been before."

Harry looked more confused then ever. "What do you mean, mad?"

Remus shrugged. "When this war began, many believed that Voldemort's side was just as valid as Dumbledore's. That's how he got so many followers. Despite the fact that he practiced dark magic, and had some unconventional ways of thinking, but he wasn't as evil as some thought him to be. However, when he tried to kill you and was nearly destroyed, he went... mad. Everything got messed up in his mind, and he was more bent on destruction. He forgot a lot of the things he was fighting for in the first place. When he took some of your blood at the end of your fourth year, it restored his sanity as well as his human, and more youthful, appearance. It just took a while for all the effects to take place."

Harry pushed his plate aside, trying to take all of this in. It made sense, in a way. He tilted his head in thought.

"Why did you join in the first place?" He asked. "I mean, why then?"

"Well, after your meeting with Voldemort in the cemetery, rumors started flying that Voldemort was back. In smaller, more select circles, the rumor was that your blood had restored his sanity. I was already feeling out of place – I didn't agree with a lot of Dumbledore's policies, or his manipulations, and there was no place in his world for people like me – werewolves, that is. I guess I joined for the same reason a lot of people did when Voldemort was first starting out. I just felt I had no place else to go. Since then, I have learned a lot more about the truth of the war, and about Voldemort's side of it all. I know I made the right choice."

Remus' voice went soft, suddenly, and intense in it's sincerity. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to force you to make it, Harry. If you still believe that Dumbledore has the right of it, then I'll get you out of here, even if Voldemort tries to keep you here. No matter what, I'm on your side first."

Harry nodded. He trusted Remus – aside from Sirius, he was the _only _person Harry really trusted. If Remus believed in the cause Voldemort was fighting for, believed that a world under Voldemort's rule would be better then one under Dumbledore's, then Harry was inclined to believe him. Especially considering all he had learned about Dumbledore – and Voldemort – in the past year.

"Anyway," Remus said, "I want you to come downstairs with me. It's about time you left this room. Tonks wants to say hello of course and... if you're up to it, Voldemort's closest circle of 'Death Eaters' are at the manor today – they have an important meeting scheduled tomorrow that I believe Voldemort wants you to attend. So you can understand his side of things a bit more. Still, it might be easier for you to face them today, before the meeting."

Harry felt himself pale, as fear danced through him. He'd managed to have a civil conversation with _Voldemort _just the day before, but somehow it seemed even more frightening to face the men and women who had fought so hard under Voldemort's order to kill him. And Bellatrix Lestrange was part of that circle. How Remus could stand being around her, he didn't know, though now that he thought of it he supposed Remus hadn't had to endure her company much since she killed Sirius, if he had been gone all summer for the Order. Still, Harry didn't know if he could stand meeting her.

Then a flare of his old determination and somewhat foolish bravery shot through him. Blind or not, he was still Harry Potter, he said, as he'd had to remind himself again and again the last few days. And if there was one thing Harry Potter could do, it was face off against Voldemort and his Death Eaters with the same reckless courage that had led him into so many of Dumbledore's traps in the past. He could handle this. Setting his jaw, he nodded firmly. Apparently guessing at his thoughts, Remus said gently,

"Harry, they're not going to hurt you. Voldemort wouldn't allow it."

And that was another thing entirely wasn't it? Why Voldemort was so determined to keep him safe? The Dark Lord's explanation had hardly been satisfactory. But Harry didn't bother asking Remus any more about Voldemort's change, or the other man's feelings towards him. He had the feeling Remus would say he wasn't the one to tell Harry that. Harry also wasn't entirely sure why the Death Eaters would accept Voldemort's word so easily, and just _let _Harry live, after everything they'd gone through the past few years, and everything Harry had done to them and to their Lord. But he did trust Remus, and if Remus could face him then so could he. Before he could second guess himself, he stood and moved away from his chair, determined to get this over with. Remus hooked his arm through Harry's, and they walked together out of the room.

It was the first time Harry had walked any great distance since being blinded, and he walked haltingly, even with Remus leading him. Sooner or later, he would have to learn to walk these halls on his own, but he was glad for Remus' presence at the moment, when he was certain he was going to bump into something with every step he took. Not entirely used to living in darkness yet, and still in an unfamiliar place, part of Harry wanted to attach himself to the wall and crawl along at snail's speed, ensuring there was no way he could hurt himself. On the other hand, it was easier then he thought it would be, to just walk. Once more sensing Harry's anxiety, Remus started speaking again.

"Harry, you really shouldn't worry about meeting the Death Eaters. A lot of them joined for the same reasons I did. The entire reason they tried so hard to get at you was because Voldemort ordered them to do so. Now that he has ordered them to leave you alone, they will. Above all, Voldemort values their loyalty to him. It is what has kept him above Dumbledore, somewhat. He doesn't hide his true plans from his followers, he doesn't manipulate them. Besides, whatever his other reasons are for wanting you alive, I know Voldemort believes you can be of use to them, and I'm sure he told the Death Eaters that as well."

Harry frowned, baffled. "How can I be any use to _anyone_?" He asked bitterly. "I can't even walk on my own, let alone cast spells properly, or duel."

Remus' voice took on the excited tone Harry remembered from when Remus was his professor, when the werewolf would get overly fascinated with one theory or another.

"That's the thing, Harry. We think you _can _be useful. You have heard that when people go blind, their other senses tend to heighten over time? Well, for a wizard, that is true on a bigger scale. The core magic within every wizard could, theoretically, replace the use of a wizard's sight by giving enhanced magical ability. There have been a few cases of it before, but you see, it's not very often that a wizard is blinded so completely that no form of magic can restore his sight, so I'm not sure how it would manifest itself. Each previous case seems to be different. But the point is, we believe it's possible that you could be much more powerful then you were before. Or rather, that the power you've had all along could finally have an outlet."

Remus paused, then gave a small embarrassed cough. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm not even really supposed to be talking to you about this. The last thing we want is for you to believe that we only want you here because of your potential power. That was Dumbledore's reason for taking you under his wing, not ours."

Harry skipped right over that. He didn't even care if it _was _the reason he was there, though he believed Remus when he said it wasn't. Excitement had filled him at the very idea that he might be useful again, might be able to fight as he had before, and use magic despite his disability. He didn't reply to Remus, to lost in his overwhelming thoughts to formulate an answer. He wasn't sure what he would say, anyway. But when Remus hesitated outside the door to the meeting hall, Harry vanquished all feelings of excitement and hope, schooling his expression into a blank mask. He could hear quiet chatter on the other side of the door. Remus squeezed his arm slightly, a gesture of support, then led Harry into the room. As he entered, silence fell, but a moment later, someone stood from the table and approached him. Harry tensed, then recognized Voldemort's steps and relaxed.

"Harry. You've come down."

Because Remus hadn't yet released his arm, Harry felt the slight tug as Remus bowed low to Voldemort. As Remus straightened beside him, Harry hesitated, thinking back to all he knew, all he had learned over the past several days. With his face still blank, he pulled his arm from Remus' and bowed as well. He heard Voldemort's breath catch in surprise, and a collective murmur went through the room. He straightened, and Voldemort said quietly,

"You did not have to do that."

Harry only titled his head to the side and replied, "I know."

There was a silence again as all thought about what that bow had meant, exactly, Harry included. The conclusion Harry came to was that while he wasn't entirely certain he trusted Voldemort, he _knew _that he no longer trusted Dumbledore. Not after everything the old man had done to him, not after hearing that _Remus _no longer believed in Dumbledore. Whatever Voldemort's side was, exactly, there were many who believed in it, Remus and Tonks included. For that, at least, Voldemort deserved his respect, even if he didn't know if he wanted to fight for Voldemort's side yet. He imagined it was somewhat like bowing to someone at a duel. There were two ways the duel could play out; a friendly contest between allies, or a battle between enemies. He just wasn't sure yet how this duel was going to go.

A moment later, someone else bounded up to them, apparently unable to withstand the silence.

"Wotcher, Harry!"

He smiled in recognition, committing the prancing, happy step to memory. "Hey, Tonks."

Tonks gave him a hug of greeting, then turned to her boyfriend. "Oy! Took you long enough to fetch him!" She chided cheerfully.

Harry felt some of his nervousness fade away as he listened to Tonks chatter. She'd managed to dispel a lot of the awkwardness in the room, though Harry had no idea who else was there. He'd been able to adjust to his lack of sight pretty well over the last couple of days, but he hated not being aware of his surroundings. It made him nervous enough on its own, never mind the fact that he was in the home of the man who had been his sworn enemy for the last several years. Finally, Tonks bounded away from Remus and back to Harry. Harry heard a catch in her step, and the woman stumbled. She must have stumbled into Voldemort because he heard the Dark Lord muttering at her before he turned to walk back to the table. Harry blinked in surprise, amazed that Voldemort hadn't blasted Tonks for her clumsiness. Tonk's only reaction was a friendly, "Sorry 'bout that!"

Remus was laughing quietly at Harry's side. "She was afraid of him for all of five minutes after she joined." He informed Harry under his breath. "She's one of the only ones who can get away with it."

Harry smiled again at that, but his smile faded as he reluctantly followed Tonks towards the table. She was holding his arm, but less to lead him and more to hurry him along in her excitement, just as she would do if he could see. She tugged impatiently on his sleeve.

"Come along, Harry!"

Tonks dragged him over to the table, and Harry hurried to catch up to her, forcing himself not to hang back. It was important to him now, to appear brave, even with the icy pit of fear in his stomach. She stopped at one of the chairs, and Harry stood up tall, his eyes towards Tonks, because he didn't know where else to look.

"You already know Severus, of course."

"Potter." Snape said quietly, his tone as cold as ever.

Harry glanced down at his potions professor, wondering what Snape's part in all of this was. Was he truly a Death Eater, or was he Dumbledore's spy? And what did he think of Harry being at Riddle Manor? Even if Harry could see, Harry doubted he'd be able to tell what Snape's thoughts were just by looking at him; the man never showed emotion if he could help it. Unsure how to react, he just gave a small nod of his head and said, "Professor."

Tonks hurried him along. "And there is Lucius Malfoy, of course, Draco's father. Draco's in the manor, though he isn't here, along with Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. You know them, don't you Harry?"

Harry nodded, but didn't bother replying, wondering how Draco would react to Harry, by all appearances, switching sides. He remembered Draco's offer of friendship in the beginning of his first year, and closed his eyes slightly as regret washed over him. What if Draco had the right of it all along? How would his life be different if he had accepted Draco's friendship, instead of Ron and Hermione's? He forced himself to pay attention as Tonks proceeded to introduce him to Avery, as well as the elder Crabbe, Goyle and Nott.

"And last but not least," Tonks continued, oblivious to Harry's sudden anxiety, "Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband Rodolphus, and Rodolphus' brother, Rabastan."

Harry pulled back on Tonks' arm as she tried to lead him up to the three Death Eaters, but even with the overwhelming terror and fury pounding through him, this meeting was the least confusing of any of them. Over the last several minutes, when he'd been whisked from Death Eater to Death Eater by an exuberant and apparently oblivious Tonks, a couple had seemed to genuinely welcome him, while the others had forced a friendly greeting or ignored him entirely. Bella's reaction somehow calmed Harry the most, because it was the one he had been expecting. The moment Tonks and Harry halted in front of her, she gave a low cackle of laughter.

"Ah, little bitty baby Potter made himself some new friends has he?" She crooned, "Abandoned his old professor for the taste of some evil?" Bella jumped in close to him, making Harry stiffen and step back from her. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into _boy_. You don't belong here."

Though Bella had moved closer, Harry didn't take any further steps back. He stared straight ahead, his expression set in forced calm. He wouldn't show her any fear, not if he could help it. A moment later, Voldemort was at his side. Harry felt his presence, his strength and his power. Harry instantly recognized it, and, to his surprise, he did not draw back in instant fear or shock this time. He actually felt some amount of relief that the older man was there. Despite his brave front to Bella's verbal attack, he was quaking inside, partially with fear, partially with fury. This was the woman who had killed Sirius.

"Bella, _enough_." Voldemort hissed darkly. He took a quick step towards her, like a wolf leaping at it's prey, and Bella fell back.

"Forgive me, my Lord," She whispered, though her voice was practically brittle with anger and hatred, and before anyone could say another word more, she turned and left the room, her husband and brother-in-law close behind her, though they hadn't yet said a word.

As if nothing had happened, Tonks tugged once more on his arm, dragging him back to where Remus stood. Harry let himself be pulled away, wishing he knew just what to do about all of this.

* * *

Voldemort himself had insisted on taking Harry back to his rooms an hour later, when the boy finally seemed exhausted and entirely unable to deal with his interaction with the Death Eaters anymore. As they walked down the hall, Harry's hand light and tentative on Voldemort's arm as the older man led him down the hall, Voldemort felt a tug of guilt for forcing Harry to go through all of this. Then he almost laughed aloud at his folly. He had so much more to feel guilty for then just forcing the boy to meet his worst enemies face to face.

Then again, Voldemort was not a man who was used to feeling guilt at all. He wasn't used to it, but he was past the point of trying to avoid the new feelings and emotions within him. Voldemort realized that he hadn't been _human _in quite some time. His new appearance, as well as all these new emotions, were what made him human once more. His humanity was essential to him winning the war, just as it was essential for him to lead the life he had imagined living when he was at Hogwarts himself.

He glanced over at the boy. He had a lot to make up for, if he ever expected Harry to feel near the same feelings for him as he felt for Harry. He wondered if Harry remembered tomorrow was his birthday. Probably not. He had a lot of other things on his mind. Maybe this was his chance to convince Harry he meant him no harm. To give him the kind of birthday celebration he deserved. Voldemort smiled wryly. Him, Voldemort, the Dark Lord of the age, planning a birthday celebration for a sixteen year old boy. It was absurd. But it meant he was human. And that was what mattered.

To his surprise, Harry, who'd remained perfectly silent the entire walk, spoke up. "I don't understand."

Voldemort looked down at Harry, a slight frown on his face. "You don't understand what, Harry?"

"Any of this!" Was the instant and slightly angry reply. "I know you tried to explain this to me yesterday. Why you've suddenly decided not to kill me. To... take me in, or whatever. But I don't understand. Why save me? Why trust me with, all of this?" He waved his hand in what he hoped was the direction they had come, back towards the meeting hall.

Voldemort sighed. "Harry, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. For now, you'll just have to... go along with it, I'm afraid. Tomorrow, we will have an official meeting with the Death Eaters, to discuss our plans. I hope that will clear up some of your questions. As for the rest... there is one thing I haven't told you yet."

Harry waited patiently, but Voldemort spoke hesitantly, clearly not looking forward to this conversation.

"When Lucius, Severus and I saved you from your relatives house, I killed your relatives; your aunt, your uncle and your cousin. But... Severus was there when Dumbledore found out you were missing and went to your house. You are being blamed for the death of your family."

Harry froze in the hall, staring at Voldemort in disbelief. "What? Dumbledore believes I... How could he believe that?"

Voldemort was silent for a moment. Eventually, he said, "One thing I have learned about Albus Dumbledore, Harry, is that he fears those who have greater power then him. You may not believe it now, but the core of magic within you is very strong, even if you haven't been able to harness all of that magical energy yet. Dumbledore sensed your power when you were very young, that was part of the reason he was so determined to make you humble, to make you believe every word he said and trust him implacably. Recently, he's been able to tell that the trust is fading, you no longer believe in him, worship him, as you once did. And he's afraid."

"What... what are we supposed to do?" Harry murmured helplessly.

"What _you _are going to do is leaving the worrying to me." Voldemort insisted. "If I know your headmaster, and I believe that I do, he will try to paint you in a similar shade to me. Disturbed teenager murders his family, he must be the next Dark Lord." He rolled his eyes. "But don't worry Harry. I will think of something in time for you to return to school. I swear it."

To Voldemort's further surprise, Harry looked as if he believed him. The boy nodded, and started down the hall once more. Finally, they reached Harry's room, and Voldemort left him at the door. Before he left, however, he smiled down at Harry and said,

"One more thing, Harry."

"Yes?"

~ Call me Tom ~

* * *

_Tomorrow: _Find out more about Voldemort's side of things, learn Voldemort's plan to keep Harry safe from Dumbledore and the Ministry, Harry's birthday, and Harry and Voldemort grow a little bit closer : )


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